


Pred, Prey... Or Monster?

by MrMcCrazyFace



Series: Pred, Prey... Or Monster? [1]
Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Crime, F/M, OC, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 17:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10746330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrMcCrazyFace/pseuds/MrMcCrazyFace
Summary: You hear a lot about Nick and Judy. But what about the rest of Zootopia? Is it all sunshine and rainbows? No. Not by a long shot. There are tons of messed up people in Zootopia. And this guy... well... he's probably pretty high up the list.





	Pred, Prey... Or Monster?

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Savage Dark](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/286626) by Kulkum. 



## 365 Days After

*BEEP BEEP BEEP*  
Light shone through his bedroom window. He hated mornings.  
*BEEP BEEP BEEP*  
The alarm clock blared in the quiet room, almost deafening him.  
*BEEP BEEP BEEP*  
He reached over with his right arm to silence the noise. He only moved it a few inches before he felt a sharp pain in his elbow.

 

“Shit.”  
_“Did you forget already? It hasn’t even been that long.”_

__

 

He shifts his weight, freeing his left arm from under his body. *BEEP BEEP BE-* He slams it down on the alarm clock. As he sits up, he can feel the cold starting to seep through to his bones.

 

“Why does it always have to be so fucking cold?”  
_“Because it’s Tundra Town, that’s why.”  
_ “It was a rhetorical question.”

 

He walks over to the mirror and stops. He inspects his reflection, checking for any damages he may have missed. Four and a half foot tall fox with the left half of his body covered with milky white fur and the right covered with thick, black fur (which had earned him the name “Half-n’-half”, back when he had had friends). The two halves were split neatly middle. His back was landscaped in scars and stitches, almost as if he were pieced together with the flesh of other mammals. Everything seemed to be in order. After completing his inspection, he walks over to his dresser and pulls out a pair of grey socks, navy blue cargo pants, and a black t-shirt.

 

__

_“Aren’t you tired of wearing the same thing over and over again?”  
_ “Aren’t you tired of saying the say things over and over again?”

 

He finishes getting changed and heads into the kitchen. Reaching into the fridge, he retrieves a glass of milk, hot pocket and some pierogis.

 

_“You know, eating the same thing for an extended period of time is unhealthy.”  
_ “So is getting shot, but that doesn’t seem to have dissuaded you from getting us in trouble.” _“Ouch. That hurt.”_

 

He heats the food in the microwave, and once it’s done, finishes it quickly. Glancing over at the clock, he sees that it’s 8:00. Grabbing a dark blue sweater off the doorknob, he puts it on, zipping it up and flipping up it’s hood. Time to go to work.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

He checks the slip of paper again. BORIS AND CO. LIMO SERVICES is written in bold print.

 

“He’s really moved up in the world. Do you think he’ll remember us?”  
_“Don’t worry. We have a very memorable appearance.”_

 

Touché. As he reaches the address, he glances up and down the building. White-wash exterior with only a few small windows scattered here and there around 3 stories tall. Maybe Boris hadn’t moved as far up as he thought. Sighing, he walks in the front door towards the reception desk and pulls his hood down. As he glances around the room, he sees a reception desk sitting in the middle of the room, with several monitors, presumably for security footage.The bear behind the desk looked bored out of his mind. To the left, there is a waiting area, consisting of several large chairs and tables, for the larger mammals, and on the right, an almost exact replica, only on a smaller scale. As Malcolm approaches the desk, the bear lifts his head and looks down at the smaller mammal.

 

“What do you want.”  
_“Not very friendly.”_  
“I’m here to see Boris.”  
The bear tenses a little. “And you are?”  
“Malcolm. My name is Malcolm.”  
“I’ll call up for you.”

 

The bear motions over to a few huge couches off to the side. Walking over, Malcolm jumps up onto one of the couches facing the elevator and scans the room. He sees two guards by the elevator and two by the stairs.

 

_“Not heavily armed, so he’s not expecting company.”_  
“Either he’s confident nobody wants him dead, or he thinks people are too scared to move against him. Either way, it’ll help us.”  
_”How?”_ Malcolm could tell by the tone that _IT_ already knew, and was just trying to test him.  
“In case things go wrong. You never know what might happen.”  
_“So you really did learn, huh?” __IT_ says, with a hint of smugness in _IT’s_ voice.  
_“Shut it. Someone’s coming over.”___

__

____

 

He sees a particularly large bear step out of the elevator and make his way to the couches, accompanied by four average sized bears. As he arrives, Malcolm stands up on the couch so the top of his head is just reaching his shoulders.

 

“Why are you here?”  
“Well, nice to see you too Boris.”  
“You only show up if you need something. So, what do you want?”  
“A job.”  
The bear looks at him for a second. “Bullshit. You’ve never needed a job before. Besides, I don’t need someone of your… skill, working for me.”  
“Aw, come on. I can be your chauffeur or-“  
“No. You’re lucky I even decided to come down here. You’re dangerous. I can’t have you working for me.”  
“I see.” Malcolm hops down from the sofa and starts moving towards the door.  
“However.”  
He stops and turns.  
“Yes?”  
The bear glances around.  
“I do have a few… problems, you could deal with.”  
“Standard deal I assume? File ends up at my doorstep, if I get captured, I don’t know who you are, yada yada yada?”  
“Yes. You will be hearing from me.”

 

As Malcolm leaves the building, pulling up sweaters hood, he grins. Things are about to get more interesting.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

__

_“You sure you want to do this?”_  
He had made it back to the apartment, and there was already a file waiting for him.  
“I don’t know. We tried do other things but…” He trails off, know IT can complete the sentence.  
_“I know. It’s the only thing we can do. I just wanted to make sure.”_  
“Think of it this way. He’s not going to have us killing any really risky people. Probably just some drug dealers and what not that are on his turf.”  
_“Hopefully.”_

 

After looking over the file (which was, as expected, a file detailing a small ring of drug dealers that had been imposing on his turf, composed of 3 snow leopards, a wolf and a cheetah), he inspected his weapons. A Beretta 92FS Inox with a flashlight and suppressor, Vector CRB with a red dot sight, fore grip and stock, and DTA Stealth Recon sniper rifle with a bipod, scope and suppressor. After cleaning and inspecting them, he gets to work on his plan.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

_“There he is.”_

 

It was about 6:00 in the afternoon the next day and it was lightly snowing, and he was scoping out one of the snow leopard’s usual spots. And there he was. Leaning against the inner wall of an alleyway. He was glancing around, very slowly. Malcolm was sitting in a café across the street, sipping a hot chocolate. The leopard had already sold to a few other mammals, including, but not limited to, a bear, wolf, leopard, and cheetah.

 

“You’re sure it’s him?” He says under his breath, to avoid attracting attention.  
_“Definitely. Time to move.”_

 

He could feel his heartbeat increase just a little bit. He had almost missed this part. Almost. Finishing his hot chocolate, he got up and headed over to the leopard. Not walking directly at him. Walking down the street, crossing at the crosswalk and then heading in his direction. As he got close, he heard the leopard speak up:

 

“Psst. Buddy.” Malcolm stops and feigns confusion.  
“Do I know you?” The leopard takes the bait.  
“No, but that doesn’t matter. You’re looking rather cold in just that sweater. Want a little something to warm you up?” He glances around. He’s nervous. Gotta be careful.  
“Sure.”  
“Good. Come with me.” The leopard leads him into the alley and around a corner. It’s dark, shaded from the sun. It reeked of trash (which was haphazardly scattered around) and drugs, the smell almost making him gag. Sometimes his sensitive nose was a curse as much as it was a blessing. His hand tightens on the grip of his pistol. Don’t want to be caught unaware. The leopard stops about three feet from the corner and turns around. He opens his coat, to show the assortment of bags and bottles, filled with one illegal substance or another. Concerning. How did he get so much?

 

“Pick your poison.” Malcolm raises an eyebrow.  
“Not literally. *sigh* Just pick what you want.” He pretends to consider for a moment, then points at a bag filled with a blue powder.  
“Nice choice. That’s a new one on the market.”  
“Really? What’s it called?” The leopard stiffens. Uh-oh.  
“Why do you want to know?” Think. Fast.  
“I want to know what to ask for if I’m ordering from somebody else.”  
The leopard relaxes. Whew. “Alright. It’s called ‘Feral Blue’.”  
Malcolm’s turn to tense. “What?”  
“Ya. Feral Blue. Never seen its effects before, but I heard it’s rather thrilling. Be careful when you use it though. You’ll attack anyone near you if you use too much.”  
“I know.”  
_”Don’t.”_  
“You know? What, you used that stuff before?”  
“You could say that.”  
“Alright let me just-“

 

As soon as the leopard took his eyes off him, he moved. Drew his pistol and hit the leopard hard in the top of his head with the butt of the gun. *Crack* The leopard drops to the ground, blood already starting to trickle from his forehead.

 

__

_“We have to move quickly.”  
_ “I agree.”

He takes off the leopard’s jacket and wraps it around the mammal’s head. Don’t want him bleeding all over the place. He walks back to the street and glances around. Not many people on the street, due to the snow, but anyone in the café might see him.

 

_“We could bring the van around and load him in there.”_  
“And do what? Dump his body in a lake?”  
_“Any other ideas?”_  
“Do we still have that barrel of sulfuric acid?”  
_“Ya, I think it’s in the garage.”_

 

After bringing the van around (with a blacked out license plate of course) he opens the side door and loads the snow leopard in the back.

 

_“You sure he’s not going to wake up?”_

 

Stepping in the van with the leopard, he closes the door behind him, draws his claws, slits the leopards throat, and wraps the leopard in thick black carpet to stop the blood from staining the van.

 

“There. He should bleed out before we get there.”

 

He then climbs into the front seat and starts the van.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

After half an hour of driving (mostly 'cause he had to take side roads to avoid traffic jams caused by the chase involving 2 rabbits, a 2 foxes, and the entire ZPD that had ensued a few days before) he arrived at his storage garage, located just outside of the city, away from prying eyes. He backed up the van to the garage door, turned off the van and opened the garage. It was dimly lit, only illuminated by the now setting sun. There were several shelves and workbenches scattered throughout the interior. They were covered with a plethora of things, including (but not limited to), gun powder, gun parts, frag grenades, incendiary grenades, and his own custom white phosphorus grenades. He shivered at the sight of them. He had seen and felt their effects first hand, and was in no rush to use them.

 

“Now, let’s see… Ah. Here it is.”

 

Nestled in between two shelves was a barrel about his height, half filled with the foul smelling liquid. Opening the lid, he retches at the sudden strong scent. When was the last time that thing was cleaned? After regaining his posture, he unloads the carpet (with the leopard inside) and closes the garage door. Don’t want anyone to see what happens next. Unwrapping the carpet, he picks up the leopard and eyeballs the leopards size.

 

_“He’s too big to fit in one piece.”  
_ “Guess he won’t go in one piece then.” There was a bit of remorse in his voice.

 

He walks over to one of the shelves and takes down a bone saw. Dusting it off, he carefully checks the sharpness. This should work.

 

_“I don’t want to be here for this part.”_  
“I know. I’ll wake you when it’s over.”  
_“Thanks.”_

 

He pulls a pair blue headphones out of his sweater pocket and puts them over his ears. Taking a few seconds to search, he finds the playlist he’s looking for, and turns it up almost to max volume. Truth be told, he never liked this part either, but someone has to do it. With that, he begins sawing away at the leopard’s limbs. Starting with the legs, then the arms, and then the head. He kept all the pieces on the carpet, as it absorbed and held the blood fairly well. After a while, he finally managed to get the limbs separated. Taking them one by one and dumping them into the barrel, each making a sizzling noise as they made contact with the acid. Now, the torso. This was always the difficult part. He picked up the torso (which was about as big and weighed about the same as him) and slowly lowered it into the barrel. The sizzling was much louder now; he could just barely hear it over his music. Once there was about an inch left of the leopard above the surface of the acid, he let go of the torso. Thankfully, it didn’t splash, and he quickly slammed the lid on the barrel. The smell had been burning his nose and he wanted out as quickly as possible. Exiting the garage and locking it behind him, he released a breath he had been holding and took a moment to clear that foul smell out of his nose. Unlocking his van, he climbed in, pulled out his phone, turned off the music and called Boris’s receptionist.

 

A gruff, slightly annoyed bear answers.  
“Yes?”  
“I want to speak to Boris.”  
“He’s out at the moment. Can I take a message?”  
“Yes. One down, four to go.” Malcolm hangs up and puts the phone in his pocket.  
“Hey, wake up.”  
_“Mmm? Oh.”  
_ “It’s done. We’ll get the next one tomorrow.”

**Author's Note:**

> Crazy: Hey everybody! This is my first time making a story, so any feedback is appreciated! This story takes place in Kulkum's Broken Mask Zootopia Universe, so go check him out on DeviantArt! I probably won't be posting the rest of this story here, as I find this website somewhat confusing to use. However, it will be on DeviantArt, where Chapter 2 has been posted! Here's the link: http://mcmccrazyface.deviantart.com/art/Pred-Prey-Or-Monster-681494033


End file.
